,
Lord thank you for this life,
As I have lived a full life,
It was not always as I would have like,
But I lived it to the best of what I could,
I’m going home; Home to the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
I have been a long weary believer,
As I’ve been away to long,
I now know what I’ve been searching for,
As He's been there in me all along,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
I have been and seen lots of places in life’s journey,
Now I yearn for familiar faces in familiar places,
I hear familiar voices calling me to come home,
I see familiar faces looking at me,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me,
My time is near, the hour I know not,
I see Jesus' face across the Heaven’s,
I hear His soft sweet voice calling me home,
I can’t wait for my real life to begin,
I’m going home; Home is the place I want to be,
I’m going home to Jesus where He waits for me.
By; Rev. Samuel and Esta Mack, OMS
Copyright 2011
VISIT US AT: http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com

The Old Salt was a special man who came along in a time
when he was needed most.
A time that is now gone forever.
When men believed and sacrificed, when hero’s walked the earth in mass.
When patriotism was not just a word
but,
by what men lived and judged the worth of each,
a man who lived a life most of us cannot comprehend.
An era now gone as this warriors tour of duty ends at this station,
and begins anew in the heavenly fleet.
Sail on Sailor into your unaccompanied tour,
we salute you.
What greater honor, that when a man moves forward,
he leaves behind in each of us the best of what he was.
A defender, protector, supporter, victor, a warrior,
the last of the breed from an era when ships were made of wood
and men were made of steel.
The Old Salt has reported for duty that takes him away from us for now.
Those of us who remain behind,
remember, and will continue to remember,
because he now resides forever in our hearts.
As I look up at night, I envision The Old Salt,
a beret draped just above the eye,
as he draws upon his pipe,
quietly he waits.
The guardian of heaven’s gate.

The Women
(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)
Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,
they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.
They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,
and white was right in South Africa back then,
but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,
you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.
You, my mother, would not, could not break,
You stood firm, you stood tall.
You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.
You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,
the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,
my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,
by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.
You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.
You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,
you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,
you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.
Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,
all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.
I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,
the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.
I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,
you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,
of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.
I salute you!
(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)

Forgive me Father for I have sinned,
for being born with you to begin,
its been a long time since my last confession,
I don't wont your blessing,
lies and resurrection.
I don't believe in love, I don't believe in faith,
cant stand my own kind,
humble in hate,
I don't believe in truth, I don't wont to be saved,
erase me from your list,
buried, unmarked,
graved.
Abused as a child,
bloodstains of a man,
only shovel awaits,
forgive me if you can.

See problems they no worry Timothy
He was raised by his Great Grandmother
One day she taught him
Miho you can make life beautiful or ugly
Work hard, find a woman who has a strong back
Beauty fades it doesn’t last long
Now let me tell you
A woman with a strong back may not be your perfect companion
Times are changing, I think Faith is more important these days
I say okay Grandma, can I have the horachata now that you made me
No hush up! You can have it when I’m finished talking
Timothy come your poor Grandfather wanted you to have this
It is his Journal and I have never read out of it
She hands it to me
I am struck by it’s cover, it is brown and plain
Yet it spoke to me by it’s elegant style
These words were printed on the cover “Blanco Vendetta”
I was drawn and pulled in untill I was covered by the spell
The first page I open too it says “My first Mil Besos”
The Temptess that blew my heart away
I turn to page 33
It says “The story of an Apache Warrior”
There are no rules to an Apache Warrior when it comes to fighting
He says if you are my enemy I don’t care how but I’m gonna kill you
Page 41 is like a fist full of words thrown across the page
Barrio boxing, The protection of the Shield of Faith
Brokenhearted for my careless speech has left her heartbroken
Strengthened by Love “Amor”
Nourished by the sunshine in her hand
There is healing in its beams
Blessed by her presence Del Dios I am Greatful
I’m like Grandpa what did you say wrong
Then these words come to me
Give her your full attention when she speaks to you
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
So I close it and my finger brushes a bookmark
It’s the Last page
It says To: “Timothy my son who is as mighty as an army”
I Thank you for the Greatest Gift
For the Greatest Gifts are as small as your small hand that touched me
I plant these seeds and they will take root and grow because you are good ground
Timothy let me say That without you I would of never found my Faith in GOD
Listen for it is your Grandfather who is dead and speechless
Timothy you see the good in everything
And I know you will understand my words clearly
If a man gives you his word
Promise me not to plan your future on it
And if you give your word my son
Do everything in your Power to fulfill it
AND NEVER Promise more than you can deliver
For it is better to put out more than you promised
Everyman is considered unwise when he appears foolish
I wish I could give you some insight about women
But your Great Grandmother may help you better than I can
But never timothy, Never be quick to fall in Love
Or give your heart to a woman
Listen carefully to her words when she speaks to you
Cherish Her give her your full undue attention
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
Love your neighbors as yourself
And do not strive against another man
If he has done nothing wrong to offend you
AS much as it is possible live peacefully with all men
And it is okay for you to speak these things with your Great Grandmother
She is a very wise and God-fearing woman
Amor take the greatest care of her, I Love you Son
Timothy when the time comes to avenge my death
Hit harder then you ever have before
But not in a Duel son, not like an open Vendetta
Marry his daughter Maria
The one who is pretty and Two years younger than you
Oh! He will suffer greatly!
And it will kill him to know that I chose this way to repay him
And remember son to be ready to fight any man at the drop of a hat

You weren't a saint but you were extremely close.
Out of all of the people on Earth, I've always loved you the most.
It will be very painful as they lower you into the ground.
Life will never be the same because you're no longer around.
You were a wonderful human being and a terrific mother too.
Your family and friends will always love you.
You were so sweet and kind that you should've been given a humanitarian award.
The people in Heaven are happy because you're there and so is the Lord.
You're in a better place and that makes your friends and family glad.
But as people see the tears rolling down my cheeks, they know that I'm so sad.
You were one fantastic lady, you were truly one of a kind.
Knowing that Heaven is your new home gives us peace of mind.
From time to time I wasn't the ideal son and that's something I regret.
You gave me life, love and happiness and that's something I'll never forget.
It hurts very much because you are deceased.
Everybody loves you Mom, may you rest in peace.
(Dedicated to Agnes Johnson who passed away March 6, 2013.) (1948-2013)

You came unexpectedly, and i was surprised,
you smiled and placed your hand on the glass and cried.
I leaned my head against the glass and told you i am sorry,
i whisper through the phone line, ill start a new story.
You knew i was innocent but you still didn't believe me,
the only person i thought that would stay by my side but you couldn't be.
Mom standing by your side and not wanting to talk,
i got really upset that you came at all cause i didn't want to see you walk.
I needed you, when i was in need,
i was there for you when ever you didn't want to bleed.
I loved you and i cherished you with all my heart,
but before you left your words hit me like a really sharp dart.
You said i failed you,
you cried to me and i knew it was true.
But i needed you to understand me,
but you went your way and upset me.
The glass is now empty and i cant find you even with the fact that I'm out,
i tell you i love you but all you do is shout.
I've lost you for good this time,
so i think i have to do one more crime.

How hard could it be to take my first step?
“Come to mommy, you can do it.”
“Oh you're home. Hon, look at him go.”
As I take another step, he picks me up.
He hugs me tight but gently and kisses me on the cheek.
I feel so safe, loved and happy. Perhaps that's how it was.
(I really don't remember back that far.)
How hard could it be, my first day at school.
My mom meets me at the front door of the building,
hugs me and says, “How was your first day? Did you have fun today?”
He comes home after a hard day at work and mom says,
“Hi Hon, it was Den’s first day of school.”
He picks me up in his strong arms and says,
“I knew you could do it.” A hug and a kiss on the cheek.
How hard could it be to learn how to drive a car or a truck?
“Den, come with me. Let's take a short ride down the road.”
We both climb up into Dad's blue 1955 Chevy pickup.
He stops on the back road, gets out, comes around and says, “Scoot over. It's
your turn.”
I start the engine, push in the clutch, shift and we start out slowly.
I'm nervous, I speed up, clutch in, shift again.
Oh crap, I shifted into reverse, truck stopped abruptly and backfired.
Dad looks at me, “But you did it.“ He hugs me, a kiss on the cheek.
How hard could it be to go away to college?
I'm so glad she has a phone so I can call my mom and dad.
“Hi Den, how are things going? You've got a B average.
That's great. I knew you could do it. I love you, see you soon.”
“You met a girl? What's her name? Wow, see you soon. I love you”
“You want to marry her? Big step; in Holland? Okay, we love you.”
How hard could it be to have a family?
“Oh, it's a girl. Mireille, that's a nice name.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.
“Another girl, Michelle, that's a nice name too.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.
“You finally had a boy, Michael, good choice.” Hug and a kiss.
Birthdays, holidays, weekends, visits back and forth, phone calls.
He loves them all, unconditionally. Hugs and kisses all around.
How hard could it be as life goes on?
He watches them grow up, get married and have children.
He loves them all, unconditionally, hugs and kisses all around.
We take short trips and mom and Dad go with us now and then.
We go camping and mom and Dad visit us now and then.
Every time you left, hugs and kisses all around. Always, “See you soon.”

Hamba Kahle Anene Booysen! (1996 – 2013)
Dead at 17, brutally raped and left to die,
in the dirt,
at a construction site in Bredasdorp.
‘horrific’, ‘repulsed’,
‘brutally raped’, ‘shocked’,
do these words mean anything,
to anyone,
anymore.
Not to Anene Booysen,
murdered at 17, brutally raped and left to die,
in the dirt,
at a construction site in Bredasdorp.
Anene was raped,
savagely mutilated,
Her 17 year old body tossed aside,
by the hands of men.
Men, always men,
cowardly, beastly, perverted, twisted men.
‘Beastly’, ‘perverted’, ‘twisted’,
do these words mean anything,
to anyone,
anymore.
Not to Anene Booysen,
who now lies cold and dead.
How many Anene Booysens will it take,
for us,
society,
families,
people,
human-beings,
and,
men, especially men,
to excise the ghastly menace,
of the heinous capacity that resides,
within men,
always men,
to brutalise, rape, mutilate, and murder.
‘Brutalise’, ‘murder’, ‘rape’,
do these words mean anything,
to anyone,
anymore.
Not to Anene Booysen,
murdered at 17, brutally raped and left,
to die,
in the dirt,
at a construction site,
in Bredasdorp.
Anene Booysen
(1996 – 2013)
* – Hamba Kahle – “Farewell, Travel Well” in Zulu
** – Bredasdorp is a small town near Cape Town, South Africa

I cuddled my baby until he took his first few steps
And began to exercise his new freedom of choice,
I heard him babble words like “ma ma” and “da da”
Years before he developed a man’s voice.
I lengthened the cord when he desired to run free
And monitored his activities and friendships, too
I trusted wisdom and instruction to guide him
Even in situations that were brand new.
I cheered when he participated in sporting events,
Both at practice and games, I did what proud parents do.
I encouraged him through disappointment and losses
And his joyful response was, “Mom, I love you.”
I listened to the things he said no matter where or what
And embraced him when he was sick or sad
I shared my life stories to motivate and inspire
But when I let go of the reins, he was so glad I got mad.
I cried at his high school graduation
And waved farewell when he joined the military.
I beamed when he clicked his heels and saluted.
What a handsome man in uniform he turned out to be.
I sent care packages from time to time
Just to ensure that he was eating right.
I asked my Lord to protect my child,
Each day when I prayed—and each night.
I stockpiled memories before he went away
And rejoiced at hearing news of the battles they won.
I pacified all my concerns with hope
And longed for his work on the battlefield to be done.
I know that a child is a precious gift from God,
And I did my best with the son placed in my care,
God gave him to me, and let war take him away….
He’s still my son, and there’s much more I could share.

Another son is dead, until five he lived.
For his long life at Shah-Hamdan he had threads tied
“Shehij ninder yee nai. Gahas Kormakh Khudayas Hawale”, his mother cries.
No news can penetrate across the mountains. Satellites work here no more
My Kashmir burns. And no one knows.
An old woman with torn scarf sits besides fire. While feeding her neighbor’s child
She sighs. Is my son dead or alive? She silently cries.
In Madrasa I hear children reciting Quran. A girl’s come out dragging her feet.
I remember her from somewhere. I remember her seeing naked.
Oh! God she is the one who was raped.
Nights have turned pitch black. My eyes are losing the habit of sight
Midnight soldier’s set another house ablaze. At least there is some sort of light.
Many letters have been written to God. Postcards posted of those raped girl’s
But its curfew again. No post office deliver’s the message again.
Death comes from everywhere. Close your windows mother
For bullet respects no womb. It turned Gulistans into tombs.
From the plains the visitors come to visit their God’s
They are our only witnesses but hypocrites at heart.
They say paradise is kaasmir. While my Kashmir is ablaze
They testify against us. Is anybody witnessing this? No one at all
Be witness to at least this. Open up your eyes my Lord!
When paradise is painted with colors of hell, certainly divinity loses its grace
In the news the reporter is beaten. Bamboo sticks are hungry for human blood.
Let Kashmir go to hell. A new promise in their portfolio.
Threads have given up at Dastegeer’s place. Even they are horrified at our fate.
In Maisuma boys are dragged by police. They close their dreams, end their screams
In a police gypsy.
Men shape into monsters when they are given right to anarchy.
The gypsy drives them into the dark cantonments. They will remember this day
Interrogation officer comes. After celebrating his son’s birthday.
The winds from the cantonments bring their news
Burned tires around their necks. Burning stoves near their heads.
The knife tearing up their flesh.
And the boys cry, “We haven’t batted yet. Cricket. We know nothing”.
Death wants children to be headlines
Hunger has affected the heavens as well.
Graves are full. No more space left.
We need land of the plains. For our graves.
In the ac car the bureaucrat goes. The mother’s with search full eyes
Ask about their sons they lost. They drink their tears
And he sips champagne.

I am a demon born from things you can not see
I am the devil look deep inside of me
this smile was born from torture and amphetamines
when I was 13 are lab exploded
gassing the house with a toxic odor
I woke up crazed and confused
thinking to myself I burned the house down
but I don't remember how or when
I panicked I ran from home, dripping sweat in my underwear
I remember someone yelling at me hey kid you ok
I ran from him too scared insane the meth in my child's brain
I went home and tapped on my sisters window she awoke
jhin what are you doing are you crazy
omg she smells it to runs out and hugs me its gonna be ok she says
I'm trembling violently sweating profusely I hear my sister screaming
my mother threating punishment if she told anyone about me,
my step dad growling
they come and get me, and whisper in the corner what should we do with him he's gonna die if we dont help him, lets called the hospitable and ask the nurses they did, I could hear them talking with my mother next to me, lady are u insane your child is dying bring him in immediately phone hangs up cold rags hit my head for hours I hallucinate horrific nothings
I watched the clock spin around for hours seeing creatures break the liquid hell walls of my home. when i was 16 I was accepted into college I did one year before the demons came crawling in infecting my mind screaming at me controlling me they said I was skitzo-affective with severe PTSD ,I dropped out of school thinking I was broken not worthy and started to use and abuse .I often think how much more intelligent I could be if that incident didn't happen who i would be without my parents, a different time with a different family, now I often act dumb so I can get along with other humans, if I act myself and say what I really think people don't relate to me, im nothing so i pretend to me stupid so i can have friends that think they get me , im all alone with myself in my self always
Written by sinisterpenz (sinisterpenns)

It's been almost ten years to December 2002 since Laci Rocha-Peterson and her unborn son were killed by her loser husband, Scott Peterson. This case has haunted the lives of all of the citizens of a California town called Modesto; just outside of San Francisco. It seems that Laci's life was ended permanently too soon, especially when she had planned on giving birth to Scott's first born son, Connor. Both of her parents (her mom and step-dad) were angry, her brother was also angry and dismayed, the people were shocked and disgusted, and so on. Scott Peterson was afraid to be a father, that he never wanted to spend the rest of his so-called "life" with his late wife, and, on top of all that, Mr. Peterson was also afraid that his late wife, Laci, would find about his love affair with another woman named Amber Frey, so he killed her as a cowardly act. Laci Rocha-Peterson and her first born son really didn't deserve to die by the hands of her own husband, their own flesh and blood. She and her son had a whole life ahead of them, especially when her son, Connor, was about to begin the first day of school and stuff. But now that baby Connor and her mother are not on planet Earth and in heaven now, their family members, especially her parents and his grandparents, are still in a depressive mode. What kind of human being would want to dump his or her spouse in a body of water, let alone the San Francisco Bay? Who does that? The media, including the CBS Network, Nancy Grace, and the San Francisco Post were all over the Laci Peterson case, especially when everybody knew that Scott Peterson Selfishly killed his own wife and unborn son. What a coward he is and/or was. Scott may have had all of the ones he loved fooled, but when he walks into the death chamber and is executed by lethal injection, God will decide his punishment. And when He does, Scott Peterson will pay for what he did to his wife and own son, his own flesh and blood. The spirits of Laci Rocha-Peterson and her son will live on in their relatives' lives and through the hearts of the ones who knew her. May she and her son rest in peace.

white helium balloon
not quite taut
from summer heat and long ride
in the rental car
let fly
by a son
to picture a father
going to a better place
crowd of friends, family
circle round
watch the orb
rise ? just slightly
then hover
just overhead
string dangling forlornly
barely out of towhead's grasp
sad eyes turn to adults
unspoken comes the question, "Why?"
"Never one to leave a party early"
nods a bearded desert-rat
slowly the drooping symbol
wafts past onlookers
barely skimming yard, garden
comes to stop over newly-mown alfalfa field
Gravity persists
drops it slowly
string entwines
among the green stubble
a calloused hand finds
young boy's shoulder,
shaking, as tears fill
saddened brown eyes
"Heaven's whereever he most loved to be, son.
That'd be right here. His flight was short."

ZACH
Let me take away your heartache,
Let me bear your unbound pain.
For I don't want you going through,
All that suffering again.
On the worst day of my life thus far,
We were standing side by side.
When we took our boy to hospital,
From Meningitis, there he died.
The pain I felt in my grieving heart,
I have never felt before.
I know those doctors tried to help,
And they could have done no more.
On the morning of Zach's funeral,
With a tear in my eye.
It's the hardest thing I've ever done,
As I bade our son goodbye.
To have your child die in your arms,
And there's nothing you can do.
Is the hardest test this world can give,
But his love will see us through.
So heavenly Father I ask of you,
Don't cast my Son aside.
For that young lad who we love so dear,
I now give to you with pride.

Inconsiderate Brazen Boy
Who knows not what good to do
You forget your manners
Respectful to none but those with a gun
And thus having broken all the rules
Inconsiderate Brazen Boy
Who in spite of a good mother’s love
Shows no kindness, sympathy, nor compassion
You follow not the Golden Rule she taught
But seek only ill-gotten crimes of passion
Inconsiderate Brazen Boy
Thy callused heart strings untuned
What innocence is left with in your breast
What values have you for those that adored you
Having their hope replaced by your dope
Is this the life you envisioned
Inconsiderate Brazen Boy
Your once good name now vulgar
Your pants hang low so your butt can show
And you believe it’s sexy
Inconsiderate Brazen Boy
Death and violence amidst your comrades
Will bring about your destruction
Thy family of gang which kill, cheat, and steal
You lay still in a red pool of clay as they mock you
Inconsiderate Brazen Boy
Stand before thy creator
For your life for right you tossed for the left
Only now do you weep for the Savior

There once was an emperor who had a son
a son who would need to learn lessons in mastermining
to govern the world
thus he gave his son a gift
the lottery
By doing proper math,
formulating teams
to purchase every possible ticket
to win his own lottery
a life lesson of a bribe to demonstrate his ability of doing some excellent math
by mentioning this one day
the emperor's son was ostrocised by society
shunned, introduced to temptation after temptation
drugs and alcohol
held hostage by society
driven to madness
the emperor's son
lit a house on fire to serve his prison sentence
away to a mental institute where he was mentally and physically tortured
through an abusive therapy of medications
reverse psychology
Not sure if my father is still out there
if i'll ever get to meet him
if i was kidnapped or switched at birth
this is my story of a gift an emperor gave
turned society into a disgusting life long experience
while living constant punishment of how pointless life was
formed their own teams
using the emperor's son's formula
rubbed their happiness and succes in his face
proceeded to use their funds to keep their hostage miserable
There is nothing worse in the world you can do to me
it's all been done
nothing worse than existance
i know this from personal experience
many of you were bribed and ready to do the wrong thing
many of you who looked upon a tortured soul and couldn't see his pain
just retaliate with more punishments for his imperfections
nothing more than perfect emotions anyone would feel
This is my story
a truth i've never known or been told
desire parental tests by some doctor who is not going to accept a bribe
i deserve to know the truth
it is definately my turn to have something good happen to me
for the first time in my life
when for the first time in my life
don't be surprised to find it to be an overwhelming experience
of one person's struggle to defend their own life
discover their truth
outwit their suppressors
and overcome the knowledge a disgusting life experience
that will never happen to anyone again
I lived the root of all evil that you used as a weapon
as i was claimed victom to your comandments you used to blackmail me with
make me look like i was the
antichrist
do not lie about this
start talking
i'm sure there is a higher reward in freeing societies captive
so he can meet his own father
im tired of trying to comit suicide on christmas and my birthday

One Big Cracker
Dear God,
I don't know what to write you
I wrote many lines and then scribbled
I know you like neat and tidy things
I have been sitting by the window since morn
In my grandma's home
You made her alone, remember?
But I visited her daily after school
She is lonely and keeps waiting for me
She bakes my favourite cookies and cakes
You gifted her with nice hands and thoughts
Two days ago she brought me over for keeps
I didn't go to school today
My heart is iron heavy and my legs can't carry it
Do you like to take moms and dads
Only on Friday the thirteenth? *
You also took James mother at the same time
Sara was seen crying, she didn't tell me why
I didn't see her playing with her brother next door
Do you have enough room for so many people?
Granny, Uncle Mark held my hand at the funeral
Uncle Richard, Aunt Jane hugged and kissed me
Many many people came to wish them goodbye
Granny is old, she placed a letter on their coffin
The graveyard was full of flowers, candles and tears
Mom and Dad were buried together and
Granny says she also wants to lie with them
But I don't know where my bed is
I thought you would also burst one big cracker at the cemetery**
So that we could all be together with you
God, when are you going to burst the next cracker?
Love,
Jim
FIRST
Balveen Cheema
November 15, 2015
Contest: Oil Painting-3
Sponsor: Eve Roper
* Paris terror mayhem on November 13, 2015, is no less than any terrorist attack in the world. Innocents die and families suffer.
** A bomb goes off at a funeral in Baghdad.

The cracked spine of
the book I dropped
at the call.
A chip in my
windshield left by a
pompous *?#@! in a
red sports car as I
drive to the
service.
Rain expectorating
from an ashen sky as
the dirt is turned.
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
crack in grandma’s
spine from her fall
down the stairs.
The chip in her
amazingly smart mind
after eighteen years
as a teacher.
Tears running,
dripping from my
Mothers ashen face
as she cries “My
mama’s dead.”
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
cracked family
emotions left raw
and empty.
The chip in Grandpas
numb mind at the
gathering… “Where is
Irene she should be
here?”
Faces gone ashen
with dread, do we
leave him numb or
remind him that his
wife is dead?
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
empty silences,
missing the jokes
Grandma used to
crack.
Grandma’s laugh and
her endless smile
which always exposed
that tooth with the
chip in it.
Without her the
world has become
empty, bleak, and
ashen.
Today is terrible.
Summer
Gratias

A spirit as fragile as glass
A soul virgin in depth
As innocent to the world as to him or herself.
A stranger to emotions, a vessel covered in flesh and a unknown purpose here, on this earth
to be discovered , yet.
Circumstances surrounding his or her conception is not known, but the child is a "gift" from
one... to two...then back to one.
The Child is "joy" whether a daughter or son.
A world commanded by nine and not by ten, created of three, defined as one.
Let the writer's write about the child's world in view and inform the Gatekeeper to prepare to review .
copyright @2004,2010 by Carrie M. Love-Atkins

These words I write with tear filled eyes,
As a new dawn comes to light.
Another day without you Son,
Nor' a star filled winters night.
Your Mother sends her love dear boy,
As our hearts are torn in two.
A Major came to see us Son,
He brought us news of you.
He told us of your courage,
Of the fight that lay ahead.
The soldier that we knew you were,
Then he told us, " you were dead".
You left for a tour of duty,
With the army in your heart.
We are proud to have had you in our lives,
We won't always be apart.
You fought for Queen and country,
Now your duty sure is done.
A man, a friend, a soldier,
And my ever loving Son.....

Oh, my little son is dead
They killed him in that war
That has nothing to give me
Oh, I love my boy
The only I gave him away
Like a bad father
I cannot believe I let him to go
He's there somewhere in cold
Without I give him a funeral love
Why I have to do that
To let him to go without me
My little son who dead
At that awful night
And alone and tells to the moon to call dad
Oh, God I rebound you
Of my boy's death
I have to run far away
To throw myself over his dirty body
Of my boy's death
Who killed him having no heart?
The only one I have
Where can I find one?
As my little, handsome king's boy
Oh, my little tiger where your body
Has been thrown away?
My son you heard me
Tell me where you are
Your dead body or alive
Help me to find him
Please God.

Dear Mother—I longed for your love:
so when you passed away I wept;
as your spirit rose up above
my stinging tears, which were inept,
flowed as we began to remove
your cold, silent corpse as it slept—.
Days passed—they gathered for your wake,
a soothing time that was not sad
or grave as they tried for my sake
to pay their respects and seem glad:
as you laid there (to never take
a breath again), I could’ve gone mad!
The hour arrived—the funeral
took place on a cold, winter morn
as if dream-like, strange and surreal.
Distraught, I felt bereaved and torn
as the last rites and burial
made me shrill with grief from Death’s scorn!—.

Look at our three little boys all grown up. You'd be so proud of the men they are today. They think of you often and what'd you say to them today. I wish you could have been here to see them grow into the men they are today. Their no longer the little boys who use to need us to need us to make their bumps and bruices go away. Their now the strong men that have their own family's. You gave me three angels from above but, you were taken from us to soon. I know your always watching after them from above. Even tho their all grown up they'll always be our three little boys.

to think he finally found his answer to
releif,
would only leave pain and greif.
to end his own suffering and
pain.
what would friends and family have to gain?
his life felt pointless thanks to past pain,abuse, and lifes trials and tribulations.
suicide was not tha answer,
if he only knew he shoulda been thankful.
what he went through was horrible
yes
but staying possitive was tha
test.
everything happens for a reason,
to find strength in god to breathe another season.
this was not destiny nor
fate.
he had a whole life ahead of him now its to
late.
now near a casket they sit at his wake.
maybe it coulda been prevented if he knew he wasnt alone
instead of taking a life in his own home..
Reach out your not alone
god has a purpose for all us.....